


what's the batter baby

by prettyshiroic (dinosuns)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baking, Birthday Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Late Night Conversations, M/M, they are both endearing human disasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 07:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13829790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosuns/pseuds/prettyshiroic
Summary: Sometimes it’s still a surprise just how much Shiro notices, how attuned he is to Keith’s presence. Before Shiro, Keith could walk a room from door to door without a single person trying to talk to him or interact. By comparison, Shiro’s gravity is impossible to ignore. And no matter what, he continuously pulls Keith into his orbit and holds him there as if he’s always belonged right by his side.





	what's the batter baby

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by real life events.

Despite happily shovelling Hunk’s latest desserts into his mouth at any given opportunity, Keith has never had a sweet tooth. Thus, he has never understood Shiro’s obsessive indulgence in tooth-rooting foods at obscure times of the day - or rather, night. Sugar runs the risk of making him sluggish and lethargic, the sickly nature of it is extremely off-putting.

Keith prefers protein. Meat mostly, sometimes fish if it’s going. A majority of his diet revolves around meat, junk food burgers are no exception. However, that doesn’t stop Keith from picking up jumbo-size marshmallows from the store each time he goes for groceries.

It also doesn’t stop him from trying (and failing) to make Shiro cupcakes for his birthday a few hours prior to standing here now in the doorway of their kitchen watching chaos unfold.

From this angle, Keith can’t see what Shiro’s doing. It doesn’t really matter though, because Keith’s found himself stood here in some unshakeable habit many nights before this one. And every time, the scenario is similar enough to predict: Shiro eating as much as he wants of whatever garbage candy or sweet thing he fancies before going back to bed.

Often, Keith goes unnoticed. Whilst it’s common knowledge he’s a light sleeper and struggles to settle, he’s also stealthy. More, he’s sneaky when he wants to be, so long as he’s never addressed directly and forced to fabricate a story. Not only that, Keith is agile. The driving energy propelling him forwards works in his favour more often than not. So when Shiro starts talking, clearly addressing him, Keith can’t help but be mildly offended. He’s actually put effort into being discreet.

Then again it is late, or early. So admittedly, maybe something is a little off with his stance. To be honest, his entire focus has been on Shiro since he made it downstairs in the oversized t-shirt and godzilla-print boxers. There’s every chance he hasn’t been as conspicuous as he hoped.

“Keith,” Shiro says into the fridge, not even bothering to look over his shoulder.

Sometimes it’s still a surprise just how much Shiro notices, how attuned he is to Keith’s presence. Before Shiro, Keith could walk a room from door to door without a single person trying to talk to him or interact. By comparison, Shiro’s gravity is impossible to ignore. And no matter what, he continuously pulls Keith into his orbit and holds him there as if he’s always belonged right by his side. Proudly. _Dearly._

They’re tethered together. Keith knows it. Not by rings or chains or names, by something unspeakably cosmic. Epically carved into his heart and seared into his soul. Call it fate perhaps, only fate isn’t nearly as infinite or supermassive. But in spite of that, Keith doesn’t feel small in the face of the forces that surround them. Not with Shiro here.

Stepping into the kitchen, Keith waits patiently. He can hear the muffled way his name rings out, can see the squirty cream can in Shiro’s hand. It’s not difficult to piece together what is going on here.

“Keith,” Shiro repeats a little clearer. And out comes a weird yet specific question. “What happened to all the meat?”

“Why are you squirting whipped cream into your mouth in the middle of the night,” Keith counters as sternly as possible. It doesn’t work. _Of course._ The shallow laugh catches in his throat, displacing the words enough to split the sentence into awkward fragments.

Pointedly, Shiro turns around simply to perform that abominable gesture whilst locking eyes with Keith. Poorly concealed amusement gleams there, but Keith doesn’t spoil the moment for Shiro. If he wants to take a second to be ridiculously dramatic, and executing it terribly whilst doing so, Keith is willing to let it slide. For Shiro, he is willing to do a lot of things. Always.

The sound of the squirty can releasing the cream is all that passes between for a moment. It’s disgusting. And Keith can only stare in open bemusement at the surrealism of all of this. Swallowing the cream, Shiro sets the can down and raises a brow. His lips twitch, but his voice remains even. As if he hasn’t just been raiding the fridge for treats like an overexcited child.

“Answer the question, Keith.”

Shrugging, Keith moves forwards. With a gentle nudge into Shiro’s side, he peers into the fridge. A hand comes to rest on his hip, Shiro’s head flopping onto his shoulder. A small smile tugs at the corners of Keith’s lips as he replies.

“If you’re talking about the ham, I ate it all earlier.” Keith doesn't regret it. He had been hungry and stress eating had seemed like the best way to distract himself from the sorry excuse for cupcakes that had been in the oven. 

The hand on his hip squeezes. There’s a subtle shift in Shiro’s posture, enough for his chin to accidentally jut into Keith’s neck. It’s enough to indicate something has changed.

“You ate _all_ of it?”

“Yeah.” At this point, Keith is no longer really looking at the contents of their fridge at all. It’s just easier and much nicer to stay there and let Shiro press against him. Sometimes being the little spoon is good. Though Keith resolves to be the bigger spoon regardless of his height and lithe build as much as possible.

Shiro sucks in a quick breath, gently kissing the skin on Keith’s shoulder before pulling away. It tickles a little, but it’s lost all chance of being whimsically distracting when Keith’s curiosity is piqued.

“Keith…” Shiro begins slowly and far too seriously for this time of the night. Closing the fridge, now concerned, Keith gives Shiro his undivided attention. There’s a frown plastered on his face, one Keith would have no qualms chasing away with his lips if Shiro didn’t look so suddenly stunned. He waits, folding his arms over his chest.

“Keith,” Shiro tries again, for some reason finding it difficult to string this one sentence together. “That wasn’t ham.”

“Oh.” Well. It’s not what Keith expected to hear. But it’s much better than the other possibilities, that maybe something bad was troubling Shiro. Tilting his head, he purses his lips - it had tasted like ham. The slices were a little thicker than usual, but Keith had automatically assumed Shiro had bought it that way from the store. He can't help but wonder. “What was it then?”

“Raw turkey.”

“Huh…” Keith muses with a blink slower than usual. He’s not drowsy. Not in a tangible way, at least. Shiro just has this ability to make time stretch languidly, makes moments linger so Keith can float in them but never sink far enough to lose his footing. Even when chugging a can of whipped cream at a despicable time of night, somehow Shiro has still done this.

“It’s okay, Shiro,” Keith starts hastily because he can already predict the needless fussing. Shiro is stepping closer and rubbing Keith's shoulders soothingly as if he's sick. It’s not at all unwelcome, but this isn’t about Keith. It shouldn’t be. This is about Shiro.

“I feel fine. Really. It’s been hours since I ate it. I probably would know by now if it was gonna cause a problem. Anyway, that’s not important right now.”

Before Shiro can interject, Keith reaches for his hands and tugs them into his grasp. Swiping a thumb across the prosthetic, he lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“It’s your birthday.”

“Not officially,” Shiro replies promptly. Narrowing his eyes, Keith glances over Shiro’s shoulders to confirm the time from the clock on the wall. He’s not wrong about this. It might not be a leap year this year, sure. But it still counts. It absolutely counts. There’s no way Keith is going to not celebrate the date of birth of the best thing that ever happened to him, the most wonderful person in his life.

“Uh _yeah_ \- it is. Officially,” Keith corrects stubbornly, butting his forehead into Shiro’s chin playfully. If he has to persist in convincing Shiro it’s okay to enjoy this day, then he will. It might make him a hypocrite considering his own birthday is something Keith endeavours to avoid every year.

“No,” Shiro nudges back, leaning down to skate his lips along Keith’s cheek. Out of instinct, Keith slings his arms around Shiro’s neck to tug him closer. “It’s not my birthday until I wake up in the morning and the day starts. _Officially._ ”

A raspy laugh has Keith grinning into the crook of Shiro’s neck. “Ha. What are you, six?”

“And a half,” Shiro mumbles. “Don’t forget the half.”

“Right. Got it. Sorry.”

Keith is fully aware of sounding entirely unapologetic, something teasing coaxing every syllable across his tongue deliberately. Besides, it’s a little difficult to be serious when an overwhelming swell of giddy joy is bubbling beneath his veins, the tingling bursting over his skin. It’s dizzying. Electric. Keith chases it further. He has no chance of fighting it, and he doesn’t want to. Not for a second.

He leans back in Shiro’s arms, drinking in the sight. The dim light of the kitchen sets Shiro’s eyes ablaze with stars he can name fluently without hesitation, constellations scattered between ribbons of silver. The shadows dip into his cheekbones, splash across his jaw. There’s a smile spreading over Shiro’s face. It’s a little goofy and it has Keith’s heart stuttering. To think Shiro is looking at him this way, so intently and fondly. As it blossoms into something too conspicuous to handle, Keith finds himself at the mercy of his own embarrassment.

“What?” he huffs, averting his gaze whilst Shiro laughs. The sound has Keith’s own lips twitching. Pressing their foreheads together, Shiro hums.

“I know what you did,” he says, and there’s no way he’s not talking about the cupcakes. Unable to mask his surprise, Keith pouts. Shiro must feel the pinch in his brow against his own, because he begins to explain. “You might have destroyed most of the evidence, but you left the washing up on the side.”

Keith chides himself, clicking his tongue in mild irritation that doesn’t fully combust. He had planned to get rid of that later, then wake up the moment the sun rose to try again and surprise Shiro with a better more successful batch. It’s no secret they’re both questionable cooks at best. Together, they are often the epitome of a human disaster. Fire alarms cower in fear, scream in despair. But still, Keith had seen the recipe on the internet and knew immediately it was something Shiro was going to love and wholeheartedly enjoy. So it didn’t matter how awful his cooking was, he had to take the chance.

“It’s not your only gift,” Keith settles for instead of admitting how a mix of cake batter defeated him. It isn’t. Like a man on a very important mission, he’s meticulously planned out the entire weekend.

“I don’t need more gifts.” It’s the only warning Keith has before Shiro grins that very particular type of grin that can only mean one thing. Honestly, Keith should have seen it coming. What a fool. “You’re the greatest gift. You’re the icing on the cake, the cherry on top, the cream of the crop-” Oh no, now he’s started rhyming and there’s a lilt to his voice that resembles tuneless singing. Just absent meanderings of notes whispered between them. “Baby! You’re the-”

Groaning, Keith butts his head into Shiro’s shoulder in hopes the force will push the rest of this strange endearing improvisatory song realms away from here. He can feel the rumbling of Shiro’s chest, unshed laughter spiralling around.

To think, it’s delivered in the most cliché way. The entire thing is cheesier than Shiro’s favourite macaroni dish, worse than a rejected Eurovision song entry. But still, moisture prickles at Keith’s eyes. Still, his breath hitches. His bones rattle, and the fire coursing through him laps at his fingers. It has them curling into fists, turning to hard but brittle stone by his sides.

“Shiro...” he manages. But barely. There’s a tremble in his voice he can no longer dispel and it’s awful. _God._ Shiro has to know. He does know, doesn’t he? Keith says it of course he does. But sometimes it gets stuck in his throat, sometimes it twists sharply in his gut and presses hard against his ribs. Sometimes it’s too much in the best of ways and the words can simply never correlate to the feeling.

“Hey. Come on,” Shiro prompts, walking backwards to guide them slowly. They stumble all of two steps before Shiro pauses to hoist Keith up so he can dangle his legs around his waist. “Let’s head back to bed. It’s getting late now, and I want to start the day officially with you. Maybe we have a batter chance making those cakes together in the morning.”

Keith hums, pressing an absent but tender kiss beneath Shiro’s ear. He doubts it, but it’s worth a shot.They can squeeze the imminent disaster into Keith’s 'Birthday Schedule' no problem. Besides, so far in pretty much all areas of life they have been better together. The tuneless humming starts up again, which has Keith suspicious because that means Shiro's amused again. 

It's not until they're halfway up the stairs he realises why. _Oh._

"Change of plans," Keith lifts his head to catch Shiro's grin. He's immensely pleased with his terrible joke. "Everything is cancelled. Including you." 

Pouting, Shiro makes it to the top step. He doesn't set Keith down, and Keith doesn't try to break free from the embrace. They're in mutual agreement this is a beneficial arrangement for both of them, even if Shiro is taking forever to get to their bedroom. "That's not very nice, Keith." Pause. Glancing up, bewildered by the abrupt silence, Keith catches something tentative in Shiro's expression. They've stopped moving now, lingering in the doorway. "You... made plans for me?" 

Burrowing his head into Shiro's shoulder, Keith's words become muffled. But he makes sure they're heard. Shiro needs to hear them and understand. "Of course I did." 

And he's still not completely finished with the plans. A lot of work is yet to be completed. Poking Shiro in the chest, Keith continues. 

"But that's classified information until the morning." 

With a small laugh, Shiro guides them onto their bed. 

"Understood." 

Keith slings an arm over Shiro, pressing his face unceremoniously into his back. This is objectively the best part of every single day. And this momentous sense of belonging is something he never expected to find, yet alone with another person. The universe has extended a rare kindness in this. But it didn't twist their pathways, or design the string that tangles their lifelines into one. Instead, it gave them the chance to find each other and never let go, to build their unwavering foundations out of stardust. And as Keith's eyes slip closed, he knows without a shadow of a doubt there's no place he would rather be. 

**Author's Note:**

> hb shiro 8)


End file.
